“With pleasure,” she said--and she had the coat on me before I knew what had happened. It had been my idea to astonish and petrify her, but I was the person astonished and petrified, myself. So astonished and so petrified, in fact, that I was out of the house and gone, without a thank-you or a question, before I came to my senses again. Then I drifted slowly along, reflecting--reflecting pleasantly. I said to myself, “She simply divined my character by my face--what a far clearer intuition she had than that policeman.” The thought sent a glow of self-satisfaction through me. Then a hand was laid on my shoulder and I shrank together with a crash. It was the policeman. He scanned me austerely and said: “Where did you get that overcoat?” Although I had not been doing any harm, I had all the sense of being caught--caught in something disreputable. The officer’s accusing eye and unbelieving aspect heightened this effect. I told what had befallen me at the house in as straightforward a way as I could, but I was ashamed of the tale, and looked it, without doubt, for I knew and felt how improbable it must necessarily sound to anybody, particularly a policeman. Manifestly he did not believe me. He made me tell it all over again, then he questioned me: “You don’t know the woman?” “No, I don’t know her.” “Haven’t the least idea who she is?” “Not the least.” “You didn’t tell her your name?” “No.” “She didn’t ask for it?” “No.” “You just asked her to lend you the overcoat, and she let you take it?” “She put it on me herself.” “And didn’t look frightened?” “Frightened? Of course not.” “Not even surprised?” “Not in the slightest degree.” He paused. Presently he said: “My friend, I don’t believe a word of it. Don’t you see, yourself, it’s a tale that won’t wash? Do _you_ believe it?” “Yes. I know it’s true.” “Weren’t you surprised?” “Clear through to the marrow!” He had been edging me along back to the house. He had a deep design; he sprung it on me now. Said he: “Stop where you are. I’ll mighty soon find out!” He walked to the door and up the steps, keeping a furtive eye out toward me and ready to jump for me if I ran. Then he pretended to pull the bell, and instantly faced about to observe the effect on me. But there wasn’t any; I walked toward him instead of running away. That unsettled him. He came down the steps, evidently perplexed, and said: “Well, I can’t make it out. It may be all right, but it’s too many for me. I don’t like your looks and I won’t have such characters around. Go along, now, and look sharp. If I catch you prowling around here again I’ll run you _in_.” I found Smith at the Water Color dinner that night, and asked him if it were merely my face that had enabled me to borrow the overcoat from a stranger, but he was surprised and said: